The Battle of Boreth
}}>>THE BATTLE of BORETH<<{{--- There were four of us. The Kuv ''hung in orbit, watching the deserted surface of the planet. The monastery had been abandoned when we arrived – even the gilded clerics had disappeared from their heated benches. I knew these halls like I knew my skin, and even the cold in the air felt wrong; but my heart was burning. Worf and Martok followed over my shoulder, two of my Order of Flame, my most trusted ''Dev vo’Lws. ''Behind them stalked ''Dev vo’Lw ''Allen. She held her bat’leth like a warrior born, still wearing her Federation rags underneath a sturdy red harness. There had always been a fire in the human, one of the first to feel the flame of the Path – I did not know what Boreth held, but I felt she should be part of it. She deserved the right. In the monastery’s courtyard, I felt it: no, that is a lie – I heard it. I do not know what he said, his words a chant that beat in time to my pounding blood: Kahless had drawn me to this point, his blade – my blade – pulling me onwards. The sword in my hand ignited like a torch; the exquisite blade had been crafted in a forgotten age – I do not know why I had never suspected it to be more then it seemed. Magic. Technology. The screaming rage of a Kahless victorious in my head. I stabbed my blade downwards, into a crack in the stone I could not see, but knew was there. The ground beneath my feet shivered as a blinding light erupted from below. I staggered backwards, drawing the other’s close as the battered stone floor slid backwards revealing… revealing a wonder. '''Tyrant Molor called it the Orb of Restoration. An Iconian weapon. My brother and I stole it from under his nose, bringing it to this place. It’s how we beat them back. It is… devastation.' It is beautiful and terrible, sitting in a hub of technology the like of which I’d only seen in my dreams. Your dreams, 'Kahless whispered, '''my life. '''I slowly stepped forward, my hands reaching out. It was hot, the lightly falling snow evaporating before it touched the glowing orb. Wrapping my hands around the artifact, I lifted it from its casing – though the system went dark, the artifact in my hand pulsed with life, a bolt of living lightening. My sword. My armor. Both hummed with force, responding to the ancient energies of the orb. '''Because they were made in the same forge. The Orb. The Sword. The Armor. When those weapons were mine, I overthrew the Empire of a God. What will you do to deserve this? What will you do with this power, little Azaram Vat Born? ' Suddenly, our comm channel opened: “Azaram, we’re getting incoming, multiple signals” Ziid never let panic enter into his voice, the rock solid corner of the Kuv’s ''bridge crew. “It’s the fleet of House Khaegor. Sir… they’re opening – “ It had come to this. Perhaps I was betrayed. Perhaps my brother was not the blinded ''targ he had always seemed. In the cold night air, I could see the sky burn bright with incoming bolts of disruptor fire, an orbital bombardment – my brother would kill me from space, a coward to the end. A coward that was about to take my life. The blasts turned the courtyard into a maelstrom of flare and fire, stone turned to liquid slag as it erupted all around us. The four of us where thrown through the air, none directly hit but none unscathed. Though I had kept a grasp on the orb, both Martok and Worf were wounded, pulling rubble off their broken limbs – strong Klingons, it takes more than certain death to bring us down. Allen, for all of her heart, did not share our durability. She was thrown like rag doll in the wind, like a skipped stone across a calm lake – her bones shattered in an instant, her body twisted in ways the human form was never met. As she came to rest, even then I saw her reaching her broken hand for her fallen blade, a warrior to the end. In an instant, I saw my path unfold. I could run, gathering the forces of the Red Fleet, bringing the fight back to Khaegor on our terms… an intelligent strategy, tactically sound. A warrior of the Red Path fights only battles he can win, there is no dishonor in strategic retreat… and yet… 'It ends on Boreth. '''The time had come. Death, on all sides. When Kahless faced similar odds at Three Neck Bridge, he at least had his Lukara besides him, the other half of his heart. The other half of my heart was half a galaxy away, embroiled in the statecraft of her people. At least she would not share my fate. Across the ruins, the air began to vibrate with a familiar hum, as transporter beams deposited their deadly force: hundreds of Klingon soldiers, blood pounding in their veins. Klingon warriors, prepared to die. My people- I could not leave them. “Martok, Worf” I bellowed, “return Allen to the ''Kuv. ''Take the ship, bring the Fleet.” “We shall return,” said Worf, “They will not know what hit them.” “No my friend. The Fleet is not to engage.” Confusion cut across both their features. “Bring the fleet to watch my triumph.” My brothers understood. As they gathered Allen and beamed away, I wondered if I had perhaps overstated my confidence. With hundreds of screaming warriors bearing down on me, one man alone, I had a realization: it is never what men say that burns them into the books of history, but what they do. I slowed my breath. Quieted my pulse. In that moment, I could see each flake of snow as it fell. ''Mighty Kahless, ''I intoned. ''Father of Empire, Warrior of Honor. I face insurmountable odds. Sure death, from all sides. I ask you Kahless, blood of my blood – share your skill with me this day. '' '''Azaram of House Korath. ' 'Defend yourself. ' I laughed, a wild cry. My savior had renounced me, bold and fearless Kahless bold and fearless Kahless leaving me to die.'' I was truly alone, one man of the Path, isolated in the darkness. So be it. The lone man in the darkness must wield the brightest torch. The first man I struck was cleaved in half; the second found himself without a top to his skull. The blade in my hand had never been sharper, and I had never felt such strength. As the forces swarmed around me, my armor let nothing past. I swept through them, leaving a haze of blood in the air, the snow beneath our feet turning red. Ten fell, then twenty, thirty, and still they came at me. A second orbital bombardment ripped open the ground at my feet, throwing me, and a third sent me tumbling across the stones, Khaegor striking out even at the cost of his own men. Bleeding from a dozen minor cuts, I reveled in the pain – it was proof that I was still alive. I realized that the orb, whatever it’s true intentions, was in no small part giving me the energy to continue. Fifty fell, then sixty, and still they came. In my memory, I wielded a blade of living flame, the heat of a nova burning all who approached – I fear I may have, for just a moment, gone mad. But for every one I killed, ten joined as reinforcements. With death assured, I held nothing back. Which is when the Jem Hadar appeared; skin like the stones of a river, horns on his head as deadly as any spear, and one good eye, he appeared in a flash of light. I cannot explain it – I do not fathom the mysteries of these cosmos. Someday, perhaps my Path will lead me to answers, but that day was not today. He wore the ancient armor of the Klingon warrior. The armor of Morath, and O’Gat. The armor of Kahless. The Jem Hadar lifted his blade, a butcher’s weapon… we said nothing to each other, but I knew what he had come to do, what we both where ready for: glorious death. There is a moment the Dahar Masters speak of: ''poH ghobe' poH, the time without time. That moment when body and heart align with arm and blade, and it is not about felling your enemies – in this moment of ghobe’ poH, ''there are no enemies, merely worthy partners in the dance of death. This strange Jem Hadar and myself, we honored our foes by allowing them to witness what we were building – a legend. While bodies fell around us, I saw that overhead the armada had halted their bombardment. In fact, they were turning on themselves, their disruptors beginning to eat the fleet alive from inside. “That would be my Vorta,” the Jem Hadar croaked, the first words he had said. “He’s good with words.” Clearly, if he had turned the fleet on itself. But the men around us did not slow. It saddened me that they did not see: their lives were worth more than blood on my blade. '''Brave little Azaram, with his new mutt. embrace the Truth: you are an imperfect clone, and it is time for you to die. You are a dancing corpse. ' ''And you are a coward. Father of our people? Father of Honor? I tell you this, ghost of a great man. You are the one who is dead. I am Azaram, and though I am born of your blood, I am myself. '' '''Then die a warrior, and become a Hero. I am all that I am. Every day is a good day to die. But today? '' ''Today I have work to do. '' If not for the Jem Hadar, I would have been slain; as skilled as I am, debate with a ghost inside my skull distracts from battle. But the thick skinned warrior kept them at bay, and suddenly it was clear. For so long, I had followed Kahless’ words, but the man had proven to be a great disappointment. Crass, cruel, he was a brutal leader for a different age. I could rail against his choices. I could forge my own path. But Kahless was, and always will be, the heart of the Klingon people. And that heart is true. Overhead, the fighting raged on, my brother’s forces catching wise to whatever trick the Vorta had pulled. They seemed ready to unleash another bombardment, all hope of victory annihilated in a single, cowardly blow. Which is when my communicator cracked to life with a voice I thought to never hear again. “Azaram, you’ve gotten yourself into a really dumb spot,” she said, my heart swelling. “Can you blame me, Ariennye? I haven’t had a single good piece of advice since you left.” Seven Narada class vessels, massive squids of space, appeared in the sky. As they opened fire, dwarfing my brother’s forces, I could feel the tide turning. “Well then, how about we live, and you give me a proper thank you for saving your life?” “Ariennye of the Romulan Star Empire… I have never been given a better reason to survive.” The battle was turning, my foes growing fearful. Soon, they would be dead… and the Empire would be less that many brave children of Qu’no’Os. It was my blood that was spilling on the snow covered ground. My people I hurt. It boiled up from inside me, the words forcing their way out… “''Qoy! Kahless puqloD…Qoy! puqbe'pu…” …'Hear! Sons of Kahless. Hear! Daughters too. '' “''yoHbogh malthbogh je' SuvwI'… Sey'moHchu' may' 'Iw…” '' '''The blood of battle washes clean, the warrior brave and true. Though men still fell over themselves to die at our hands, many began to slow. They were listening. “''maSuv manong 'ej maHoHchu', nI'be'yInmaj 'ach wovqu'!” '' We fight, we love and then we kill, our lives burn short and bright. ' I do not know what they saw, but the look on their faces said it all: awe, wonder, fear and triumph. I believe, in that moment with over a hundred bodies surrounding us, that they realized what they faced. “''batlh maH ghbej'jyoqIjDaq, vavpu'ma' DImuvpa'reH maSuvtaH…” '' '''Then we die with honor and join our fathers in the Black Fleet, where we battle forever… ' “''Qu' DamevQo' maSuvtaH, ma'ov.” '' 'Battling on through the Eternal fight. ' They were facing Kahless Reborn. Those that still stood, dropped to their knees. Those that were dying embraced the honor done to them. I heard it on their lips... “Kahless… Kahless… Kahless –“ “No!” I shouted. I had their complete attention, “not Kahless.” '''You are finally something more. “I am Azaram of House Korath, ''Dev vo’Kahless, ''First of the Red Path.” “I am here to save your lives.”